


Last Night In Paris

by Topaz_Eyes



Series: X Company: Last Night / Last Morning In Paris [1]
Category: X Company
Genre: Awkward First Times, Emotional Baggage, Episode Tag, First Time, Loss of Virginity, M/M, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-08 18:14:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10393029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Topaz_Eyes/pseuds/Topaz_Eyes
Summary: “Can I stay with you awhile?”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Post-episode tag to S3E3 “One For The Moon.”

The bottle of whisky procured by Sinclair’s freshly-delivered francs can’t put up much of a fight over the evening. They’re all high on the rush of how they hijacked Hitler’s radio broadcast on behalf of Jacques Rigaud. Later they’ll learn that Neil’s speech, thanks to Harry’s technical wizardry, was heard by General de Gaulle himself in London. For now, the fact that they succeeded is enough to celebrate.

They make their toasts, finish the bottle, and (somewhat drunkenly) vacate the bar in pairs before curfew, staggering departures to avert suspicion. Neil’s skeptical, but Sinclair’s assured them Faber won’t blow their cover on their last night in Paris. So they return to the TB ward they’ve been using as their safe house the past couple weeks.

Harry continues to ride the wave of exhilaration as he prepares for bed. He’s still pumped: not only about his success, but also the upcoming mission to Poland. He and Neil will drop their photos off in the morning for their papers to cross the border.

Though as the whisky-fuelled giddiness bleeds away it’s replaced by a fine tremor that won’t resolve, and a vague sense of – something – he can’t explain. It’s probably just anticipation: boarding the train tomorrow afternoon, to a brand new place, a venture into the unknown, who wouldn’t be excited? His jangling nerves should settle down soon.

He crawls into bed and tries to sleep, but manages only to toss and turn. The pillow’s too thin, the bed springs too squeaky; the blankets scratch and the overly-starched sheets rustle too loudly. After about an hour, he gives up. He slides out of bed, dons his glasses and pads across the hall to Neil’s room.

He spies a covered lump on the bed, listens at the half-closed door for a moment to the lump’s steady breathing. Which sounds maybe a little too even, Harry thinks after a minute. He makes a decision.

“Hey. You awake?” he calls quietly from the door.

Neil shoots up instantly, eyes snapping wide open to glower at him. “Fucking Christ, Harry! I am now.”

His scowl alone could kill, but Harry cheerfully ignores it. “I can’t sleep,” he says. “Can I stay with you awhile?”

Neil rolls his eyes. “How old are you again?” he asks. Nevertheless, he budges over to leave Harry enough room to sit on the edge of the narrow bed.

Neil may sound irritated, but the gesture means he wants his company after all. Grateful, Harry shuts the door behind him, the door latching with a soft click, and he approaches. But he doesn’t want to sit on the bed to talk; that means he’ll be expected to leave shortly. Instead he takes off his glasses and sets them on the nightstand. He then pulls the covers back and climbs in without hesitation. He figures that after the last few days, he’s earned the right to be assertive.

Neil freezes a split second. “What the hell d’you think you’re doing?” Though even as he complains, he shifts over as far as he can until he’s against the wall, to allow Harry more room.

“Trying to relax.”

Neil raises himself up on his elbow to peer down at him. “By jumping into bed with me like a little kid afraid of the dark?”

“Shut up. It’s not like that.”

“Right. You sure you don’t want me to sing you a lullaby? Shall I rock you to sleep while we’re at it?”

Harry pulls the covers up and slides down, folds his hands on his stomach, refuses to be baited by the teasing. Neil frowns at him a moment, considering; then he shakes his head, flops down onto the mattress and turns over, his back to Harry. “Just don’t snore.”

Harry snorts and settles into the half of the pillow Neil’s grudgingly ceded to him. At least Neil isn’t pushing him away, and the mocking is nothing he can’t handle. As it turns out, the springs in this bed also squeak with every movement, and this pillow’s also too thin, but they don’t bother Harry nearly as much as when he was by himself in the other room. Neil’s back, broad against his side, is warm and comforting. His companionship is really all he needs right now.

So Harry’s unease diminishes, but after awhile he realizes he’s still inexplicably wound up. He can’t seem to shake the strange little thrill that keeps crossing his skin like a freezing hot breath of air.

“All right then, what’s up with you? You’re shaking like a leaf,” Neil says after several minutes of enforced quiet.

Harry sighs and scrubs his face. “You know, I wish I knew.”

At that, Neil shifts over to face him. From the corner of his eye, in the moonlit dark, Harry watches his craggy features smooth into kindness. “It’s all right to be scared.”

Harry knows what his fright looks like, feels like, smells like, tastes like. Whatever this sensation is, it’s not fear. He turns his head to look at him. “Why would I be scared? Are you?” he asks instead, partly to deflect, and partly curious as to why Neil would reach that conclusion so quickly.

Neil’s quiet for a moment. “It’s stupid not to be,” he says. “We don’t know what or who we’ll be dealing with. No contacts, no support, only ourselves to rely on cause we can’t bloody well rely on Faber. Besides, none of us speaks Polish.”

Harry nods in full understanding. “I used to think you didn’t know the meaning of the word fear,” he admits. “I used to envy that.”

He gets a short huff in reply. “Did my job well then, didn’t I.”

Harry turns on his side so they’re facing each other. “I thought, before, if I could just – not be afraid all the time, like you always seemed to be, it’d be so much easier, you know?”

Up close, Harry witnesses the fine lines around Neil’s eyes and mouth deepen in a grimace of guilt, and Neil sighs. “Courage doesn’t mean you’re not afraid,” Neil says. “It means you do what you need to despite your fear. You’re a courageous man, Harry.”

Harry smiles shyly, genuinely touched by the compliment. He’d worked so hard to gain approval from the team since he’d joined, but maybe he’d always had it. “Thanks,” he says, “that means a lot.”

One corner of Neil’s mouth quirks up in return. “Yeah, now shut your mouth and go to sleep,” he says, and closes his eyes.

Harry closes his eyes too, but not for long. He’s still on edge, unable to settle. He glances around the room, the blurry part he can see that’s not obscured by Neil’s face. Maybe he should return to his own bed now, let Neil get some rest anyway. It’s not like he’s not used to the sleep deprivation. But then Neil’s not really asleep either, and Harry wants to talk some more, at least a little longer.

“You know, I’m still a virgin,” Harry says conversationally.

Wait a minute. Where did that even come from? Harry blinks, taken aback by his own candour.

Neil is utterly shocked by it. His eyes fly open again and he actually chokes a bit. “What the bloody hell?” he splutters when he catches his breath.

Harry shrugs. “It’s true.”

“And you’re telling me cause…?”

“Does it bother you?”

Neil regards him shrewdly. “I reckon the question is more, does it bother you?”

Harry suddenly suspects this might very well be what’s been needling him all night, though he has no clue why. “Yeah, some,” he allows –

Oh great. He’s just given Neil the perfect opportunity to tease the bejesus out of him. And he knows from long experience, Neil’s both inventive and merciless when he gets going. Harry steels himself for the onslaught.

Though sometimes, Neil can surprise him. “If I’d known before curfew, we might’ve found someone to fix that for you,” is all he says. “Can’t do nothing about it now.”

Huh. His clipped tone suggests this particular discussion is over. But Harry’s not done with the topic yet. “So what’s it like?” Harry presses on. “Being with someone?”

Neil’s still sputtering, still thrown off-balance. “Stop pulling my leg, will ya,” he says testily. “That’s not a question you ask –”

“No,” Harry says, and the intensity in his voice catches him off-guard. “No. I really want to know. Please.”

The fervour, and the request, stun Neil too; he snaps his mouth open and shut like a fish. To be honest it’s kind of funny he’s driven him so far off-kilter he’s not even mocking him about his admission. Though maybe it’s not fair to ask either, because Neil still hurts from losing Miri the day before yesterday, and it probably hits too close to home. But he can’t help this pressing need – no, this desire (and why is it desire? Harry wonders) – to hear what Neil has to say.

“You never had a girlfriend?”

“Siobhan was the closest.” He winces and glances away, not realizing how sore that still is with him, even though he knows the team long forgave him his betrayal. “Never had time to date anyone growing up. Too busy with school and stuff.”

Damn it. There’s another opening for an easy dig. But again to Harry’s amazement, Neil doesn’t take the bait. Instead he inhales sharply, releases his breath in one slow exhale; rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. He’s silent for so long Harry thinks no answer will be forthcoming at all, but then he speaks.

“Most of the time it’s just shagging,” Neil says, quiet and thoughtful. “All you want’s a good time. But once in awhile you find someone, you hit it off. You’re going at it, next thing you know, you’re bollocks-deep inside them and they’re all around you, and suddenly it’s not shagging anymore. It’s – I can’t even describe it. It’s like you – lose yourself. In them, in the moment. Until you don’t know where you end and they begin, and you don’t ever want to let that feeling go.”

Neil’s voice trails off. Harry’s sure he’s just heard a confession, one Neil’s never shared with anyone else. “Does that happen often?” he asks in the same subdued vein.

Neil shakes his head. “Maybe once or twice in your life. Three times at most if you’re lucky.”

“Was it like that with Miri?”

Neil closes his eyes and sighs heavily. “Yeah, it was.”

Harry doesn’t know what to say to that; he briefly squeezes Neil’s shoulder in sympathy. Silence drops again as he mulls Neil’s words over, tries to relate to them. Losing himself in the moment while doing something he really enjoys, he knows well; he’s spent hours immersed in his studies, his experiments, his hobbies. Not wanting to let that feeling go, he gets that too.

It’s the feeling of getting lost in someone that he’s missing. Or is that craving, a small voice in Harry’s mind helpfully clarifies.

He realizes what he needs to know next. He’s gotten this far and Neil hasn’t thrown him out of bed yet, so what does he have to lose? 

“What was your first time like?” he asks.

“You’re never gonna let this go, are you?” But Neil’s protest is weak at best; he sounds like he’s already resigned himself to the inevitable.

“Not ‘til I have all the answers.”

Neil’s mouth twists in a crooked parody of a grin. Harry figures he must really be regretting his invitation to stay, since all he’s done is put Neil on the spot, and he feels a little guilty. “Look, you don’t have to tell me,” he offers, “just that I – ”

“No, it’s all right.” When Neil speaks next, his voice is so hushed that Harry has a hard time following. “I was fourteen,” Neil says, “summer before we moved to London, me and my best mate Geordie, we were messing about in his dad’s barn back in Cheshire one day July. Was nothing at first, we roughhoused all the time. But… he’d pinned me down in the hay, and I was squirming beneath him trying to break free. Next thing we knew, we – we’d stopped fighting and started rubbing each other through our trousers. It was amazing, I’d never felt anything like it.”

“You weren’t with a girl?” Something within Harry’s brain perks up and pays attention.

“Nope. We were horny little buggers too, both of us, came in our pants in seconds. Learned quick after that, take the clothes off first.” Neil sniffs, grins and turns to face him. “Miracle we never got caught. We kept doing it whenever we could the rest of the summer, Geordie and me, ‘til I left.”

Neil huffs a quick, self-conscious laugh. “Course, when I moved to London, I had my share of birds and then some.” His grin fades and he looks away, past Harry’s shoulder towards the closed door. “But Geordie… you never forget your first time. Does that answer your question?”

Harry can only nod around the growing lump in his throat. He’s hyper-aware of everything in this moment: the trace of whisky that still laces Neil’s breath, the scent of soap and clean skin emanating from him; how they’re both wearing only boxers and undershirts, how only a few inches of humid air separate their bodies under the covers. Even the distant knock of water pipes down the hall seems to pause, waiting for something to fall – 

He’s sure it’s the worst idea in the history of bad ideas.

He doesn’t care.

He always thought even a bookworm like him would find someone eventually. But time – well, it ran out on Tom, and Miri, and all the soldiers left behind at Dieppe. It almost ran out on him too once. Tonight, right now, could be his only chance. He doesn’t want to miss out. Whatever he can have; however long he can have it.

And he’s certain Neil will understand and go along. For his sake, if nothing else.

He blinks with its simplicity. The moment resolves; Harry swallows the lump down and recovers his voice. “Hey,” he says.

Neil weirdly seems to have a hard time meeting his gaze now, but Harry’s never felt more sure of anything in his life. He reaches across the distance, takes Neil’s hand resting along his side, and pulls it toward him, to lay it against the growing bulge in his boxers.

It never occurs to Harry that Neil might refuse. Neil stares at him slack-jawed in disbelief, which Harry has to concede makes sense when one finds his hand in another’s crotch. Neil doesn’t withdraw his hand right away, which is encouraging. But then Neil shakes his head, his eyes shadowed by – not refusal, but something else.

“Harry – ” he whispers, a warning or maybe a plea. It’s then that he tries to move his hand away.

Harry quickly grasps Neil’s wrist to hold it in place and rocks against his palm. “Let me do this with you,” he says urgently, tries to control the quaver in his voice. “Just once. Just for tonight.”

Neil draws in a shaky breath. “I’m not the one you should be shagging, mate – ”

Harry places his index finger over his lips. “Sshh, it’s okay. It’s okay. I want you to be my first.” He nods sincerely, hoping to convince him.

Neil’s right, this is crazy and they probably shouldn’t do this. But he would rather lose his virginity to a friend who loves him than a stranger who’d only care about the money. Assuming they could even find a prostitute in time to take care of it before they leave tomorrow.

Neil swallows, regards him with that same haunted expression for an eon, until Harry wonders whether he should have even bothered to try. He’s just about ready to give up, slink out of the bed and back to his room when Neil closes his eyes, squeezes gently. Harry’s breath catches and he can’t stop himself from surging forward.

“Are you sure about this?” Neil murmurs against Harry’s finger still resting on his lips. When Neil opens his eyes again, the fear’s replaced by concern, and a slow-burning heat. “We do this, there’s no going back.”

Harry doesn’t look away. “I won’t regret it,” he replies, his voice firm.

“I don’t want you to be hurt – ”

“You won’t hurt me.”

“Come here, then,” he says huskily.

Trembling with relief and excitement, Harry lets go of Neil’s hand and scoots over until they’re flush. Neil rolls onto his back, pulling Harry with him.

Harry straddles Neil’s hips, braces himself on Neil’s shoulders and rests on top for a moment, simply getting used to the sensation of Neil’s body beneath him. He’s fully erect; with their hips aligned, he feels an answering hardness in Neil’s groin. Neil wants this too, he marvels, and he’s more than a little thrilled by the prospect.

He’s also more than a little intimidated when he realizes how little he knows. He’d never paid much attention to the other boys in his university dorm bragging about the details of their conquests. He pauses, wondering where to start.

“Gonna get a move on sometime?” Neil says after a minute.

Gingerly, Harry lowers himself down, slides his hands up to cup Neil’s face; cards his fingers through the curls above his ears, strokes his thumbs over his cheeks. Neil balances him at his sides and regards him steadily, his eyes hooded.

“Can I kiss you?” Harry asks. Neil inclines his head, which Harry takes as permission. He closes his eyes and leans across that final inch to press their lips together.

Kissing Neil is kind of like kissing Siobhan, though he’s surprised by how Neil’s lips are so soft against his own, if a bit dry. The stubble against his upper lip is an odd sensation at first too, the prickling not pleasant but not unpleasant either. He goes slow, careful, savouring the taste, the pressure, how Neil responds in turn, his breath quickening. 

Harry’s annoyed at first by how Neil holds back on touching him. It reminds him too much of their fight at the train yard on their way to Dieppe. So Harry grows more daring and insistent now, kisses deeper and more urgent as his confidence builds, until he pries Neil’s mouth open and slips his tongue inside.

It’s like a switch flips. Neil seizes Harry’s head and he crushes their mouths together with stunning force. Yes yes yes, Harry shouts inwardly, this is more like it. This is what he wants, how he imagined it. He moans into his mouth, meets him kiss for kiss, their tongues sliding together hot and demanding. Each frantic kiss jolts straight to his groin; Harry winds up tighter than a spring with the dual aching pleasure in his mouth and his cock. He rocks his hips increasingly hard and desperate against Neil’s until seconds later, when he breaks away and stills, his eyes wide and unfocused.

“Oh my God,” Harry breathes. Neil clasps his arms; Harry arches upwards and comes for the first time like a shot. He gasps with each blissful jet of release.

Neil’s looking fondly at him when he recovers his senses. “A bit eager, you are,” Neil says, amusement colouring his voice.

Harry blinks, stunned. It can’t be over already, they’d barely even begun. “What the hell?” he says. He rests his forehead on Neil’s shoulder so Neil can’t see the disappointment on his face.

“It’s all right, mate,” Neil says, “it happens. Don’t worry about it. Rest up a bit, then you can go again, yeah? Just a little slower next time.”

Harry lets out an impatient sigh. He shifts uncomfortably with the sticky warmth in his boxers. He’s still certain he did something wrong. Worse, he’s started to soften, while Neil remains hard against him. So much for his first time. “How long will it take?” he asks, tries not to sound petulant.

“Ten, fifteen minutes,” Neil says, “no rush.”

Harry draws his mouth into a grim line. If he’s going to salvage anything from tonight, he just has to trust Neil’s judgment on the matter. “Okay,” he says, and clambers off to lie beside him. He covers his eyes with his arm, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

Harry expects to hear some ribbing, but to his credit, Neil doesn’t comment further. After a couple minutes he overcomes his injured pride; he lifts his arm to glance sideways. Neil’s folded his hands on his stomach, head turned to watch him. No judgment, no mirth, just a steadfast, patient gaze. He starts to feel a little better.

He hates how he still feels cheated though. “You know, you could’ve warned me,” Harry says.

Neil shrugs one shoulder. “Thought I had.”

Harry thinks back to what Neil had said about his first time. Oh, right. “I guess I missed that part,” he replies, sheepish.

“Gets easier with practice.” Neil cracks a smile at that and winks at him.

Harry shakes his head and rolls his eyes, but he appreciates Neil’s reassurance and lack of jokes at his expense.

“Ever thought you might be over-dressed for the occasion?” Neil adds, glancing down to his chest.

“Yeah, I suppose.” Harry hefts himself up to take off his undershirt.

As he does, he notices how the head of his cock peeks out from the fly of his dampened boxers. He looks over further to see the tip of Neil’s, poking out from the waistband of his. They both look kind of ridiculous with their dicks sticking out of their underwear. Sex is so weird, he thinks. It lightens his mood considerably, to the point where he can’t stifle a chuckle.

“Do I even want to know?” Neil says, an eyebrow arched.

“Probably not,” Harry replies, still amused, and he peels off his undershirt.

Neil strips out of his at the same time. They’re both sitting up at this point; Harry surveys the sparse curls of hair on Neil’s broad chest, admires the defined bunches and ridges of muscle of his back and shoulders. It’s – different, he muses. The context. He’s seen Neil shirtless a few times before in the field, at the resistance camp mainly, and never thought anything of it. But here in bed, he likes it beside him, very much. He thinks about running his hands over that smooth, naked skin, and feels a welcome surge in his dick. Shouldn’t be long now.

At the same time, Neil’s gaze roves over Harry’s torso with its permanent souvenirs from Marmonne: the healed knife wound on Harry’s right shoulder, the fragment marks from the grenade on his left upper chest that stand out on his pale skin. Harry realizes with a start, this is the first time Neil’s seen them. Since they left Marmonne, Harry’s taken care to be nothing but fully covered around everyone, to the point of changing his own bandages. Harry holds his breath, unprepared for how everything’s suddenly laid bare in Neil’s expression.

Then Neil shakes his head, a stricken look on his face, and that haunted look from earlier returns in full force.

Crap. Neil’s not just remembering how he’d almost died that evening on the kitchen table. He’s remembering that he’d had both feet so far in the grave, only a shot of adrenalin jabbed into his heart could bring him back. Crap crap crap. This is not good. He shakes his shoulder.

“Hey. Neil. Hey. I’m still here,” Harry says.

Neil squeezes his eyes shut. Harry reaches up, caresses Neil’s brow and cheek, forces him to look at him. “Neil,” he says firmly, “listen to me. It’s okay, I’m still here.” Neil doesn’t seem to hear him though; frozen, he stares right past, eyes glazed like he’s trapped in a nightmare. Harry squashes down his own fear and presses their foreheads together. “I’m still here,” he says, his voice quiet and calm. “I’m right here with you. I’m not going anywhere, okay? I promise I won’t leave you tonight.”

Harry knows he can’t offer anything beyond now, so he doesn’t try. He holds onto Neil, silently wills him to pull himself back together. And after what seems to be an agonizing minute, Neil does, draws back with a hitched breath. The panic’s gone, though the fear remains at the edges of his gaze. Harry drops his hand, relieved.

Neil bows his head and slowly traces over the ridges and valleys of Harry’s marked shoulder and chest with his fingertips. Harry watches, transfixed as Neil maps each scar. His brows are furrowed in fierce concentration, as if trying to burn each whorl and pucker into his memory; as if trying to reclaim something important from them. Harry senses that Neil needs to do this. He remains perfectly still aside from his shallow breathing.

Then Neil’s looking at him, his eyes glittering. He tilts Harry’s chin and kisses him on the lips: not heated or demanding like previously, but so gentle that the only word Harry can think of to describe it is _loving_. Harry’s eyes flutter closed and he responds to the softness in kind, to start a give-and-take that quickly sends him reeling. This doesn’t feel like shagging, he thinks in a haze. This kiss has somehow gone way beyond sex and the thought pierces him all the way through. When Neil ends the kiss and draws back, the dazed look on his face tells him the same thing.

“Uhm,” Harry says, unable to form a coherent sentence; most of him remains submerged in the lingering memory of the kiss.

Neil recovers his bearings much quicker. “You’re still over-dressed,” he reminds him.

Neil’s voice brings him back to solid ground, and Harry looks down at his lap. “Oh yeah,” he says. He finds he’s hard again, his cock jutting erect from the fly of his boxer shorts. He eases the sticky cotton off, wipes the residual jism off himself, flings them onto the floor.

Neil hasn’t removed his yet. “Can I?” Harry asks, staring at Neil’s crotch.

“Go for it, mate.” Neil reclines on the mattress, hands behind his head on the pillow.

Harry worries his lower lip, rises to his knees and manoeuvres himself so he’s beside Neil’s hip. He tugs at the waistband, lifts it off; Neil raises his hips so Harry can pull the shorts down his legs. He tosses them on top of his discarded boxers.

Harry studies how Neil’s dick rises and arcs up towards his stomach. This is it, he supposes. If anyone had told him six months ago, before they started out, that at this precise moment he’d be kneeling naked and hard on a narrow bed in a fake TB ward in Paris; that he’d be minutes away from having sex with his colleague – his best friend – Neil – Harry would have laughed himself sick at the sheer lunacy of the idea.

But after everything they’ve done, everything they’ve endured, all they have left to fight back the darkness is each other. Suddenly it doesn’t seem so absurd after all. (He’s twenty years old, he thinks. Doesn’t seem fair. At his age he shouldn’t have to contemplate things like this.)

“You just gonna stare at me all night?” Neil says.

Harry rouses from his reverie. “Course not,” he replies. And it doesn’t matter in the end, because they have each other, and that’s what counts, right? Every day they get through together is a victory, and he’s going to enjoy every day while he can. He lowers himself down beside Neil and smooths his palms over his shoulders, stretches to kiss his jaw.

They soon begin to explore each other’s bodies up and down. Harry forces himself to take his time, to make it last. He notes how Neil shivers when his thumbs brush the erect nubs on his chest; playfully he licks each in turn and Neil gasps with the shock. Harry smirks to himself at that, until Neil grabs his ass and kneads his cheeks none too gently. Harry moans with the deep, bruising pleasure.

To be more accurate, their hands roam everywhere except where it counts. Harry feels oddly timid about touching Neil’s cock, ironic given how bold he’d been earlier, when he pulled his hand into his crotch to start all this. So he tries to draw Neil’s hand to his crotch again, but Neil snatches it away. Harry realizes the jerk is holding back from groping him on purpose. Instead Neil waits with a knowing glint in his eye.

“Is this a game of chicken or something?” Harry says, increasingly frustrated. “To see which of us gives in?”

“You touch me first.”

“Why?”

Neil actually leers at him. “Cause this is what you wanted.” 

Seriously? He’s going to pull this bullshit now? “Wow. Must be my lucky night,” Harry quips, deadpan.

The look on Neil’s face is priceless. “Bloody comedian you are,” he mutters.

But it breaks the ice; Harry laughs freely, and with the shyness gone, he reaches out and closes his fist around Neil’s cock. He smirks again, triumphant, when Neil arches into his grip. He guides himself by the small noises Neil makes in the back of his throat, until Neil’s rocking into his fist, his forehead pressed in the hollow between his neck and shoulder.

Neil takes him in hand right after, fingers cupping the underside of his balls, palm gently massaging the upper. He smears his thumb feather-light across his slit, to spread a small pearly drop over the head. Harry’s mouth drops open in an ‘o’ of shocked pleasure.

“Like that, do you?” Neil murmurs against his collarbone. Harry quivers at the rumble of his voice. He nudges forward, wanting him to do it again, but Neil doesn’t repeat it; instead he rolls his fingers in another sensation that makes Harry’s toes curl.

Harry struggles not to buck with each stroke on his shaft but soon gives up. The feeling is too good not to thrust and holy God he wants more of it, more of Neil playing with his balls, more rolling over the head of his cock just so. They cling to each other and push urgently into each other’s hands, driving each other forward. Neil searches for Harry’s mouth; when their lips meet, Neil forces his tongue inside, hard and insistent and with the same rhythm as his hips. 

Harry gives it right back to him just as fierce and rough. He can’t get enough of its mad brilliance, can’t get enough of this glorious ache that’s about to split him in two. It seethes and spirals, threatens to overwhelm him. Harry soon writhes desperately in Neil’s fingers, feels his control begin to slip. He wants to come so badly he could let go right now –

But not like this. He gathers all his remaining will to hold on, breaks the kiss, licks his lips.

“Please – ” Harry doesn’t care that he’s begging. He grabs and stills Neil’s hand. “ _Please._ ”

“What do you want, Harry?”

Oh God. He wants Neil so much it _hurts_. He gazes straight at him, completely bare. “I want to fuck you,” Harry says hoarsely.

To Harry’s delight, it’s exactly what Neil wants to hear. He claims his mouth in another searing kiss, rolls them onto Harry’s back, balances himself and nudges Harry’s legs open to fit in between.

Harry realizes he doesn’t know how to fuck another man. He does know what comes next with a woman, but he’s at a loss about how to continue with Neil. He breaks the kiss again to ask breathlessly, “What do I do – ?”

“Between my legs,” Neil murmurs against his mouth, angling down and parting wide enough for Harry to slip his cock in the crevice just beneath his ass cheeks. “Like this.”

Harry bucks up against the impossibly smooth, soft skin of Neil’s inner thighs. He moans shamelessly with the sensation of burying himself all the way in hot, tight flesh. He’s already so, so close as he slides in and out between Neil’s thighs; the exquisite friction over the head of his dick grows almost too much to bear. Harry stares at Neil above him, lips parted and panting, clutches his shoulders tight. Neil’s eyes are so dark and full of raw desire, Harry feels himself sinking into the gaze which bores right through him. They move together to match rhythm and thrust and breath, until the only thing that matters anymore is the sweet, crazed throbbing between them. Harry pumps his hips like a piston, chasing relief headlong right to the edge of bliss.

“That’s it, mate,” Neil whispers.

The roughness of his voice, that little bit of encouragement, pushes him over. Harry’s entire body coils and stiffens; his balls draw up, and he comes for the second time, a white-hot explosion launching from the base of his spine to engulf his whole body. He plunges forward again and again, cries out as he shatters. And Neil holds him fast, leans down and draws each gasp into his own mouth. Warm slickness builds with each burst of his orgasm until Harry’s fully spent and the shudders taper off.

Harry trembles as he tries to cling to the feeling that’s already fading, tries to tell himself it’s only the sweat on their bodies chilling him as it dries in the cool air. But as the aftershocks settle, Harry becomes aware of Neil grinding against him. He grabs Neil and rolls them onto their side, slips his hand over Neil’s straining cock and strokes, desperately wanting to reciprocate, to share the feeling he’d just had.

Neil adjusts Harry’s fingers around his cock, then wraps his own around, slides their hands up and down until he finds his rhythm. Harry follows his lead and observes, fascinated, as Neil’s thigh and stomach muscles tense and relax, as Neil grits his teeth, squeezes his eyes shut to focus on his own release. Harry’s never seen Neil undone like this, flayed open by need, for him, because of him; his heart swells and turns over. He finds himself breathing and tensing with Neil, silently urging him on as Neil thrusts hard and fast into their combined fist, until moments later when he buries his face in the side of Harry’s neck. He climaxes with a muffled groan, spurting onto their bellies and over their hands.

They lie together in a mutual sated haze as Neil recovers, Harry still holding Neil’s cock to feel how it twitches, begins to soften. It’s a different kind of thrill, to know he made Neil break, and Harry is more than pleased with himself at the feat. Though he’s sweaty and messy, and he can’t quite wrap his head yet around the fact that he’s just had sex. Until he smells it, wafting sharp and musky and heady around them.

Well, at least he won’t die a virgin now. He huffs wryly at the thought.

“You all right there?” Neil asks; he sounds a little ragged himself.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

When Neil is fully soft, Harry withdraws his sticky hand and cleans it on the sheets. Neil wipes himself off too, then tugs the blankets up to cover them. Harry nestles against him, head pillowed on his shoulder, arm slung across his chest. His first time is over now, truly over. He already misses the feeling, wonders when he’ll experience it the next time, and with whom.

He wouldn’t mind at all if it’s with Neil again.

“Thanks,” Harry says. “That was – that was great.” Better than great, actually, but he’s too wrapped up in his post-shag bliss to find more descriptive words.

“Glad to hear,” Neil replies. Harry grins at the smile in his voice.

Neil pats his hair, his back, his shoulders in long, lulling strokes, until Harry feels so loose and relaxed he could float. This is so amazing, he thinks; the tension from earlier is completely gone. He should have thought of this earlier. There’s no doubt he’ll sleep soundly through to morning now.

And yeah, they definitely should do this again. As often as possible. He could use the practice, after all. But not right now, he’s too tired, so maybe when they wake up. He closes his eyes, feeling perhaps the most at peace with himself since they arrived in France.

“Love you,” Harry murmurs, drowsy against Neil’s skin. He doesn’t care whether Neil says it back or not. He already knows how Neil feels about him and that’s enough.

Neil tightens his arms around him; he presses his lips to Harry’s forehead, rests his cheek on his hair. “Love you too, Harry,” he says, softer than a whisper. Harry doesn’t open his eyes, but he nods against him, smiles contentedly as the words envelop him like a second embrace; as Neil’s heart beats strong and steady at his ear.

“Now shut up and go to sleep,” Neil adds gruffly.

Harry doesn’t have to be told again.


End file.
